The Toaster Incident
by CaffieneKitty
Summary: The man can barely work a toaster. Oneshot pastficlet of John W. vs appliance.


**Title: The Toaster Incident**

**Author:** CaffieneKitty

**Summary:** "The man can barely work a toaster." One-shot past-ficlet of John W. vs appliance.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing Supernatural. I used to own this exact toaster.

**A/N: **Just a little day-in-the-life ficlet that keeps buzzing round my head anytime I see a reference to the line about John Winchester and toasters. Mild cursing. Based on a real experience that resulted in my then-roommate swearing off toasters and preaching the infinite superiority of toaster ovens. Git.

_Translation available - Russian. Link on author page._

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**The Toaster Incident**

by CaffieneKitty

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What the hell kind of toaster doesn't have a button you push down? It sat on Pastor Jim's counter, glinting malevolently. Two slices of stubbornly untoasted bread stuck up from the top. John had turned the thing around three times, looking for a button to make it accept the bread. "Automatic toaster," read the engraved letters on the top, "Drop bread in slot to activate." John picked up the bread from one slot and dropped it in again. There was a faint twangy noise, but the toaster refused to do a damn thing. He picked up and dropped the other slice. Nothing.

This was pointless. Why in hell did bread have to get toasted? Bread was cooked already. Throw a slice of baloney or whatever on it, fold it in half and eat it. No one ever got sick from eating raw toast. But Pastor Jim had been feeding the boys toast and jam in the mornings while their father had been busy elsewhere. It being Sunday, Pastor Jim was the one busy elsewhere and John would be damned if he would be defeated by a mere kitchen appliance.

If it was a weapon, he'd have had it figured out in five minutes, tops. John pondered the idea. Would approaching the toaster as though it was a weapon help? Maybe the bread was the wrong calibre. Maybe the toaster had a switch to take it off full auto. John picked up the toaster, looked at the bottom. No switches of any kind, except the crumb tray release. Not going there again.

He put the toaster back down on the counter, checked that the damn thing was plugged in for the twentieth time, pushed down on the bread directly. It sprang back, distinctly bent, and no more toasty than before. Muttering a few words he was certain were rarely heard in the preacher's house, John bounced the bread up and down in the slot a couple times. Sproingy noises. Pushed the temperature control all the way up, replacing the relatively mangled slice of bread with a fresh one, dropping it in the empty slot next to its fellow bread slice as directed. Nope.

As he glared at the shiny metal toaster, he saw a small movement in the background of the reflection. He turned around to see 8-year-old Sammy standing in the kitchen doorway in his pajamas. The little grin on his face told John that he hadn't just arrived. Dean skidded up to the doorway in his PJ's and sock feet.

"Morning boys," John rumbled.

"Morning," giggled Sammy.

"Morning," said Dean, "Um... You making _breakfast_ Dad?"

He was slightly pained by Dean's tone, which implied John making breakfast was a close kin to John dancing the lead in Swan Lake, but it was only natural, really. When they weren't couch-surfing at someplace like Pastor Jim's or Caleb's, Dean usually handled food prep. At that thought, John told himself it wasn't a defeat, it was a tactical maneuver to let the more experienced reinforcements take over the field.

"No time, sorry boys. You'll have to fend for yourselves." He grabbed his coat from the hook by the door. "Pastor Jim should be back from services by noon, I'll be back by two. Don't give him any crap or you know I'll hear about it."

"Yessir," the boys chorused, Sammy with a lingering giggle, Dean with almost entirely suppressed relief.

While John tied on his boots in the mud-room, he watched the boys. Dean rummaged in the Pastor's pantry for jam, Sammy pulled up a kitchen chair, retrieved both slices of bread from the toaster, dropped one in one slot with a click, then dropped the other one in, and smirked as the bread crept down into the toaster.

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(end)


End file.
